Strife
by RedIn
Summary: The plot occurs after the events of DA2. A modern universe where anyone who had the misfortune to be born a mutant has to be registered and placed into special, isolated facilities where he or she learns to control their abilities and not threaten society. Anyone who objects is thrown into special prisons or just vanishes. Anders and Falcor were spared after...
1. Chapter 1

The plot occurs after the events of DA2.

A modern universe where anyone who had the misfortune to be born a mutant has to be registered and placed into special, isolated facilities where he or she learns to control their abilities and not threaten society. Anyone who objects is thrown into special prisons or just vanishes.

The world is still shaken after the quickly spreading Darkspawn virus was stopped, taking half of the population with it. Everything is chaos and uncertainty. The Chantry Institute is on the rise, its half-religious half-political propaganda is leaking in and its unofficial army of templars is more than just mutant hunters.

Anders and Falcor were spared after they started something they didn't know how to finish, something bigger than their lives. Now they keep running and everything is at stake.

Ferelden,Gwaren, Kleinszen 10:05 am, Wintermarch 2012

They met in the middle of a crowded market street. The Sunday market was almost a social event for the terrified population; people were selling and buying, chaffing, joking and daring to be simply at ease for a moment. But Falcor Redin was far away from feeling calm. He inhaled the air cautiously, searching. The familiar scent of herbs and freshness was barely noticeable amongst so many other smells. He gritted his teeth, clutching at his side when a passer-by's elbow accidently dug into it.

Falcor really hated crowded places.

He spotted the blond bolting out of a truck's back door and waving to the driver. The old, bald man nodded at his passenger and drove down the street.

Falcor simply stood there. He wanted to call out the right name but the pulsating pain on his side and the unwanted proximity of so many disturbing scents and voices made him a bit lightheaded. So he leaned against a nearest solid object he could find; a perfume stall (what a terrible choice) to the clear annoyance of the seller.

The blond turned around, finding him in this mass of people as if he was feeling him. Maybe he was. Looking into the surprised amber eyes Falcor tried a faint smile. Within a moment the blond man pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the greetings he received, and reaching out for him.

Their fingertips touched hesitantly at first and then their fingers laced together, their grip tightening to the point of pain, as proof that it was real; both of them were still alive.

Pressed together by the movement of citizens passing by, the two just shared a moment of mutual relief. "Anders," Falcor breathed out.

The blond mutant's eyes filled with concern at the paleness of his lover. "They got you this time, didn't they?"

The redhead just gave a small nod, whispering urgently. "There were too many of them to take out... it's just a scratch. No need to worry about it. I couldn't lose them this time. They are coming for us." He half-closed his eyes, free hand discreetly landing against the hidden wound. But Anders noticed the involuntary movement. "Scratch, ha? Let's take you to a safer place where I'll be able to examine you."

Unresisting, Falcor allowed himself to be led through the narrow side streets. He'd trusted his lover with his life for more than two years already. Perhaps Anders was the only one he could trust. In a normal condition Falcor would take notice of small things to mark the way around, memorizing the path. But right he couldn't do more than moving his legs. The last few days were harsh on him; between running away from the templar hunters, being wounded and having little time for rest or food, the mutant was exhausted. Even his inhuman stamina wasn't endless.

He was quite relieved when they stopped near a seemingly random door and Anders knocked a rather vivid pattern of encoded message. Shortly the door cracked, open enough for them to slide in.

Falcor blinked. He found himself in a half-dark room, a bedroom and a dining hall and a kitchen, all at once. A startled child looked up at him, smelling of onion and fear. She gave the newcomers a terrified look, relaxing only after she recognized Anders.

"Lena, it's okay. The healer and his friend won't hurt us. Go play with your teddy bear." A soft feminine voice behind his back hurried to calm down the girl. Falcor turned around. The woman was old, hair already gray and many wrinkles marked her pale skin. She nodded at him, hugged Anders and immediately promised them her famous soup.

Anders smiled at her gently, stroking her grey hair, an elegant brow furrowing questioningly as he squinted at the playing girl. The woman sadly shook her head, whispering to the blond. "No, she's still said no word, Healer. Not since…that incident." Falcor's sharp hearing caught the exchange between the two. He squinted at their direction but remained silent. Anders's saddened expression didn't escape his attention either. The healer just softly squeezed woman's shoulder and helped the redhead in.

Two minutes later Falcor was relieved of his heavy, hooded coat and familiar, expert fingers pulled up his sweater and undershirt to inspect the poorly bandaged wound. He was gently pushed to the small bed and obediently lay down. The child climbed off the bed in an instant and rushed to her grandmother's side. It was clear that he scared her. Falcor wasn't surprised. After all, he didn't have Anders's fine features or his charming ways, and scarred tissue instead of an eye wasn't a very pleasant view for sure.

Anders leaned closer as he tried to examine the gunshot wound in the dim light. He could see the jagged edges of skin and flesh and the dried blood all around. There was a fair amount of it on the improvised bandage. "I'll have to pull out the bullet before I'll be able to heal you," he said, quietly hiding the frown.

Falcor nodded weakly. Anders was already rummaging in the healer's bag he always carried on him. "Merissa. I'll need hot water and some clean towels or rugs," he turned his head to the older woman. Instructed by her, Lena ran to the old, crooked closet and brought Anders a few towels while Merissa heated up some water.

Anders gave Falcor a piece of wood and advised him to bite on it. Falcor nodded again. He'd need it. The one eyed mutant howled in pain when the thin, heated tongs made contact with his flesh. Anders was as gentle as possible but the pain was still intense. He bit harder into the piece of wood and tried to remain as quiet as possible and still couldn't prevent the muffled screams. Luckily, the pain was short-lived and he took a shuddering, whimpering breath as he spat out the stick he'd almost bitten in two. Falcor could feel the girl's eyes lingering on him, the smell of fear in the air increasing. He licked his dry lips and concentrated on Anders instead. Anders murmured something soothing in the background. He nimbly yet tenderly healed the bleeding again injury and wiped away the blood. As usual there was no sign left except the new, pink, sensitive skin.

"Stay down. You've lost too much blood." Anders gave him a stern look just when the red haired mutant tried to pull himself up. He knew his lover well. "Doctor's orders," Anders added in a harder tone.

Falcor rolled his eye but didn't find any resistance in him. Instead he just rearranged his clothes. "Thank you. Again."

Anders gave him his special smile, the one he kept only for his lover. It was small and tired but reached his honey eyes. Falcor could never resist it, lips spreading in a similar countering gesture.

"The soup is ready." Merissa chimed in in an over-cheerful tone.

They ate in silence. The girl finally left Merissa's skirts and returned to her previous place, her dirty face curious and still a little fearful as she stared at them.

Falcor managed to finish half of his plate before a well-known siren disturbed the fragile moment of peace. He tensed up. Templar patrol. Anders paled but tried to remain calm. He grabbed Falcor's coat and threw it at his direction. They rushed to dress up and collected their stuff erratically.

Little Lena left her teddy bear on the bed as she occupied Falcor's seat in a practiced move and grabbed the spoon, eating the soup. "Over here." Falcor turned at Merissa's strained voice. The woman pressed somewhere on the side wall where the crooked closet was, he heard a tiny rusty noise activating something and a small opening was revealed. 'Hurry up. The siren's getting closer," she urged them. She hurried to close the secret passage's entrance after them, pushing the closet back and took Anders's place near the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Free Marches ,Starkhaven, 11:00 am, Wintermarch 2012

A simple black car stopped before the large, fancy house. The only passenger, a black haired, middle-aged man in army clothes, brushed his fingers over the half-open leather case lying in his lap. His impassive eyes passed over Sebastian Vael's villa, unaffected by its wealthy façade.

His uniform was quite plain, a grey fatigue uniform. Only a golden seeker's symbol on his shoulders gave away his high rank. The Seeker's face, thin and not sun-kissed, partly hidden by thick quadrangular glasses, was thoughtful as he pulled the folders closer.

His mind was still pondering the leather case's content.

Two stocky folders with the stamp SECRET INFORMATION on each of them, each containing all they could gather about two extremely dangerous mutants he was after. Mutants that had somehow managed to escape the long hands of the Chantry Institute so far.

The Seeker opened the first folder, examining a picture of a blond, gaunt young man with an aristocratic nose and tired brown eyes. This was their most recent picture of Anders, known as The Healer (his real name or origins were quite a mystery), taken a few days before the incident (which was more than a half year ago). This mutant had a rare gift of mending people instead of hurting them. Yet he was a defiant and rebellious personality who couldn't accept his place. After many escapes he was conscripted by Wardens instead of being punished for his insolence.

_A bitter rebel with warden's training. That is interesting. He even managed to escape them, who knew it was possible?_

Lately he was called the Kirkwall Terrorist by the press. This picture had been snapped secretly without Anders knowing of course. It was made by a spy of theirs. A pity the man didn't survive long enough; he had been quite useful. All he knew about Anders so far was that he used to run a free clinic in Dark Town (surely a cover for his illegal mutant business), wasn't captured and brought to Gallows only because he was under Hawke's protection and was not so secretly sneaking mutants out of Gallows.

The other folder contained details of the Nevarran mutant named Falcor Redin. The photography was more recent here, capturing the one eyed man about a month ago. Seeker's eyes lingered on the photography as if studying it for some time. Everything about this individual was long and lithe; dark red hair braided down his back, scarred, strong arms and legs.

As the well-collected information stated, Falcor was one of the few who had managed to outlive Downing's Entertainment's Studios, an illegal, underground fight club which held deadly gladiator battles for public entertainment. People vs. exotic animals, animals vs. mutants, mutants vs. mutants, everything of everything. The place was found eventually and erased about seven years ago along with all involved. Or so they'd thought. Marcus Downing managed to escape to their great dismay, and he wasn't the only one. No one was sure about the extent of Falcor's involvement in the business but he was often seen with Marcus Downing in public. He couldn't be a small fish.

Even more, Falcor was a mutant who wasn't shy about using his abilities when he had to. The Seeker kept reading, lips curling up at the vague description of his mutant powers: Inhuman senses of sight, smell and stamina and an ability to transform into a lynx.

He chuckled softly and shook his head as if amused.

The Seeker stopped his glasses from sliding down his nose and closed the folders again, carefully replacing them into the case. His private driver, a tall, grim soldier opened the car's door for him to march out towards the door.

A perfectly shaven man in a black suit opened the massive door at the second ring and invited him in. The Seeker soundlessly followed the butler into the small but well-furnished room where he was asked to wait.

His hosts, Sebastian Vael and Marian Hawke, didn't let him wait for long.

Still silent like a ghost butler brought them some tea served in the finest porcelain cups, something that meant to impress him perhaps but didn't have that effect. He wasn't a gaping youth, hadn't been for years.

Marian Hawke was a cheeky and loud person from received reports. Both of her deceased father and sister were mutants, the latter unregistered before her twenties and perished in Kirkwall Chantry's explosion incident. Marian had managed to climb her way up from the sewers, ending as a very successful journalist who had a great influence in Kirkwall and hooked up with the most desirable bachelor of the town. Marrying a Vael would bring her closer to the social peak of the wealthy and powerful.

Her fiancé, Sebastian Vael, was the last surviving member of the Starkhaven's governor family. He was a tall man with a soft voice who wore a mask of perfect manners from the moment he walked into the room. The young man lost his mother-figure, the head of the Kirkwall Chantry institute, Elthina, that infamous day. He still wore white despite how much time had passed since then, color of grieving in Starkhaven.

The Seeker shook their hands politely, taking in their timing, well calculated not to appear in a rush or disrespectful. Both of them had attempted a homely appearance, although it was too tidily messed up to appear authentic.

"Seeker Arthur Reeley at your service. I am glad we could meet at least. I thank you for your cooperation and promise not to take too much of your time."

Sebastian Vael greeted him calmly; no emotion but serenity could be seen in his seemingly calm lyrium blue eyes.

"Oh, that's not a problem, Seeker Reeley. We do have some time here and there in between the wedding preparations." Marian took a small sip from her mug, nodding at the Seeker with a polite smile.

They exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, nice and civil before cutting right to business.

"We'll be glad to assist you with whatever we can, Seeker Reeley," Sebastian confirmed to the other; all lightness goes from his voice. "And I definitely wish for real justice to happen. The terrorists are still roaming the land, and the souls of the victims can't find peace knowing that the evil deeds of the vile mutants went unpunished."

"Of course, Mister Vael. I am here to see to it. Such a crime won't go unnoticed."

Marian placed her hand above Sebastian's and gave it a gentle supporting squeeze. He could see for a moment a flicker of a real emotion between the two; care and deep sadness. Then the mask was up again.

He spent the next few hours interrogating them, recreating the events that led to the madness, taking many detailed notes about the escaped criminals, their habitats, the way they thought, acted and fought. Anything that might help him to get on their trail.

It was known that the two weren't acting alone; there was a mysterious figure behind them, a mastermind of the grand act known as Kirkwall Incident. The man called himself Justice and openly preached against the law. Not many knew his face and lived to tell. Hawke and Vael were one of the lucky (or not so) few who could recognize Justice.

He placed a few pictures of matching the general description men on the table before the two and waited, watching their reaction carefully.

Hawke wasn't an actress at all. With a deep frown, leaning forward, she checked all of the photographs quickly, her perfectly manicured finger stopping near one of them. "It's him. Yes, I recognize him. That's your man."

Marian looked up at him. Her eyes were full of anger and barely concealed pain. Because of Justice and Anders she had lost her last family member, Bethany Hawke. Her sister was a mutant but she was nothing like Anders or Falcor, she was a gentle soul who wouldn't hurt a fly. Marian still clung to the thought that if she had stopped them in time her dearest sister would be still alive.

He looked at the chosen picture of a severe looking man and suppressed a surprised groan. Looking up from the photograph was Erik Lehnsherr, a man known as Justice or in wider circles as Magneto.

Things just became more interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Ferelden,Gwaren, Kleinszen 11:14 am, Wintermarch 2012

The two clung together as much as it was possible in the rather narrow passage, doing their best to be silent. They had to crawl on their hands and knees, one after the other, to fit. Falcor's now golden feline eye adjusted to the darkness in no time. From what he could see they were in some kind of a long pipe made of old bricks and rusty metal; it was too dark to see where it ended.

From the faint smell spreading in the thick air, he could tell they were in sewers or at least close to them. The mutant wrinkled his nose in disgust. A sensitive sense of smell could be such a burden sometimes.

He stopped and half turned his head back, listening. Voices could be heard through the masked entrance since they were still close to it. Anders hoped they would be able to until the unwanted guests were gone. The voices were too muffled to understand what they were saying yet the tones made it quite clear; the templars were loud and demanding against the soft explanations of the old woman.

Anders was still, one hand covering his lover's reassuringly. It wasn't the first time Merissa had hidden him. It had become quite a reliable shelter, never discovered till now. Who would suspect a hidden door to the sewers in the wall of an old apartment? He hadn't been the first mutant to hide in there and probably wouldn't be the last.

On the other hand, Falcor, always the pessimist, was nervous. He found it difficult to trust the woman. The redhead could only hope their luck wouldn't run out this time.

A minute passed and then another. Neither of them dared to move. Maybe it would end peacefully this time. Without any complications.

The barking was completely unexpected. He could feel Falcor twitching and gasping, a soft noise of distress. Anders knew that his lover and dogs had a long history; his usually brave redhead could panic in sight of one. Even a puppy could scare him sometimes. Anders could only guess it was connected to his past. Falcor didn't like to talk about it.

Indeed, the redhead began to shiver almost instantly. They weren't safe here. If not for the damn dog they would be able to go undiscovered but no, those bastards had to bring a dog along. It would be able to pick up his smell which was probably the purpose. They had to get away, immediately.

He began to push Anders further into the darkness of the rusty pipe; his frantic movements giving away his rising panic.

Anders didn't expect to be pushed forward and hit his shoulder, hissing in pain. "I'm moving, stop pushing me."

He frowned but moved forward. Since the space grew even narrower he had to half-crawl on his stomach, one hand pushing his backpack before him. He didn't want to lose it. Falcor quietly pleaded him to hurry up in a scared voice.

The voices became louder, getting closer to the masked hide's entrance, the anger clearly heard in the templars' shouts.

Both of them froze in mid-movement when a sudden shot ripped through the argument, followed by a sound of a body hitting the ground and then a childish squeal, abruptly cut short by another shot.

Anders cried out their names and hesitated, torn between the healer's impulse to go back to check if one of them was still alive and the urge to run away before he'd be next.

Falcor solved it for him, just pushing him forward forcefully. The one-eyed mutant knew there was nothing they could do, not anymore. They had to move away from the entrance which he just heard being opened and two intense flashlights pierced the darkness a few breaths later.

Anders tried to look back, startled by the blinding lights out of nowhere. The Templars ordered them to surrender, the dog barked, and Falcor crawled faster which led to Anders being forced to crawl forward faster too, scratching his hands and knees over sharp stony shards he could barely see.

One of the flashlights managed to capture the quickly retreating figures of the escapees. The dog made a growling sound somewhere from behind. Falcor yelped in growing distress, bumping into Anders in his rush to get away. The Templars decided it was a time for action and raised their guns in their direction. One of the poorly aimed shots hit a spot near Falcor's left foot. He cursed in Nevarran. To die here, in this stinky, dark piece of sewage wasn't an ending he'd imagined for himself.

Neither of the mutants expected the angle of the pipe to drastically change downwards and suddenly Anders was helplessly sliding down. Falcor came shortly after him; his eye wide with surprise. It happened so fast that they had no time to react.

Even more suddenly, there was no solid surface under them and they were falling.

Luckily the fall was short enough to prevent any broken bones, but not the bruises they'd probably have. It hurt.

The dazed healer groaned. He was lying on his stomach, half pinned to the ground by something heavy. Not very comfortable, he had to say.

For a moment he wasn't sure why he was there, wherever "there" was. But very soon the memory of the last events came back to him. Anders dared to move, very carefully, pushing at the panting body above him. He could feel Falcor stirring as the other removed himself from his form; the redhead's breathing was heavy upon his neck. He nimbly scanned Falcor's limbs, just to see if there was some damage and then did the same examination on himself. Again, they were lucky, all the bullets missed them.

Lena and Merissa weren't. Their luck had run out. Grief washed through him like a freezing wave. He hadn't known them for long, but they were friends. They had risked their lives helping mutants like him for a long time. Heck, Lena's parents had been mutants, who were shot before her eyes. Hadn't she seen enough horrors in her short life!?

He knew what templars did with people like Merissa or Lena. Some part of him was grateful he wouldn't be there to see their cold corpses dragged to the main square, tied to the special columns that were made for that purpose and left to rot with a large sign above them calling them traitors and mutant lovers.

They didn't deserve it.

Meanwhile Falcor looked around, his feline golden eye glowing in the dark. They were indeed in the sewage. His nose wasn't wrong. At least it was a dry part of it, no unidentified liquids and half-liquid substances to fall face-first into. He took one look at the pained expression of his lover and looked away. It was his fault. All of it.

Silently the redhead stood up and helped his lover up. Anders said no word as he followed Falcor. His movements were stiff; almost mechanical. Falcor scowled.

What could he say? Look Anders, I am sorry that because of me those people are dead? Would it change a thing? Falcor doubted it. They were innocent and now they were dead and their bodies were about to be humiliated. And there was nothing any of them could do to change it.

It was almost funny how much thought was dedicated to those people's destiny. They were no more than strangers, friendly but strangers. A few years ago he wouldn't have spared so much time to those thoughts. But meeting Anders, being with him had changed something at Falcor's core.

He didn't believe himself a heartless person. Yet more often than not he had to push aside any emotions or feelings that could sabotage his safe being. He was a hardened survivor, forced to do whatever he needed to just to stay alive. He wasn't proud of things he did. But he was a different man now. Anders didn't make him weaker, Falcor mused, but more human.

Yes, that was the right way to describe it. Falcor had learned how to connect with his emotions. Anders showed him that being compassionate and caring wasn't a luxury.

But it wasn't the right time or place to get sentimental. While they weren't being chased by templars at the moment, the mutant hunters were hot on their tails. Although in reality the whirlwind of his thoughts took less than a minute, every second counted. They had to find their way out.

As if hearing his thoughts Anders voiced them aloud. He still had the same expression of pain on his handsome face, but at least he wasn't drowning in it anymore.

Their faces marked by the grim determination they shared, the two mutants disappeared into one of the dark passages. Still alive. Still together.


	4. Chapter 4

I suggest reading the chapter while you hear that song again and again. I believe it fits perfectly. watch?v=u3dkVk3F57c

Gwaren, Kleinszen 19:35 pm, Wintermarch 2012

Within hours, the place was crawling with mutant hunters. Armed and uncompromising, the Templars searched through the small city, turning everything upside down. They were searching for mutants and indeed they had found some - but not the escaped criminals they were after. Their 'catch' was just a group of terrified children and elders who failed to hide this time. Mutants' accomplices were dragged out and publicly executed. Their rapidly cooling bodies were dumped next to the corpses of an old woman and a little girl. After a short debate, the mutants themselves were shackled and escorted to the one of larger cars. The Circle was the proper place for them: once they'll reach their destination, their fate would be decided by the local Templar-Commander.

Despite all the efforts of the templars, the escaped murderers and terrorists known as Anders and Falcor Redin weren't found. The sewers were searched as well after the templars got hold of the sewer blueprints (which took too much time). All they found were swarms of rats. The runaways had vanished.

Gwaren, 200 miles north to Kleinszen 20:44 pm, Wintermarch 2012

They were so unbelievably lucky. If Falcor was a believer he would fall on his knees to exalt his gratitude to God. Finding their way out the sewers and escaping the city by hiding in a truck delivering bricks without being found by the Templars was no joke. Someone up there was looking out for them.

Ditching the truck on its first stop, they made it to the forest and forged into it. Wilderness was their safest bet.

After blindly treading in the snow for a while with fear pushing them forward and nearly freezing to the death, they found an abandoned gas station. The two cried with the relief of finding a temporary shelter. It was already dark and the heavy snow kept falling, slowing their movement through the thicksubstance.

Of course they were exhausted, very cold, smelling of sewage and hungry but none of it could be compared to the fact they were still alive and free.

Anders broke in, using some brute force. He carefully checked inside before helping the barely standing up Falcor in. It wasn't hard to see that the redhead was able to stand only by pure obstinacy. He was shivering and often held onto his still hurting side.

Rummaging in the chaos of dusty garbage, Anders managed to find a usable bowl, a half full box of matches, a few untouched by some miracle cans, some old wooden furniture pieces; a real treasure for the two. "Hmm…tuna and corned beef…Not bad." Anders mused.

He quickly pulled the wood together and made a small fire, daring to only for his lover. The way Falcor almost collapsed to the floor, curling into himself, skin achieving a bluish shade of a freezing person indicated his dire state. Anders assumed he wasn't looking any better and yet his lover was the one who lost a lot of blood because of this wound from before.

He filled the bowl with snow, cleaning it a bit and then refilled it with fresh snow. He left it near the fire till the snow melted, mixing it with one of the cans and forced Falcor to finish the improvised soup despite of his quiet protests. When some color has returned to Falcor's face, Anders felt a bit less worried. He opened the other can and ate its contents, using fingers.

The smaller man was lying near the fire, as close as it was possible, eye half lidded and watched the flames dancing. He had barely said a word since their fall down the tube, avoiding looking at the blond most of the time, a behavior Anders learned to crack.

Sitting near Falcor he watched the fire as well. "Stop that. It's not your fault. You couldn't know it'd turn out that way."

Falcor didn't react, only twitching.

"Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. "Anders repeated, firmly holding Falcor's cold palm in his hands. The shorter man grimaced. He couldn't look at Anders. "I should have known they would get a dog…After so much time on a run I should have..." He took a deep breath.

Anders just shook his head in disapproval. "Falcor, look at me. Come on, look at me. I don't blame you. I blame the templars, the blighted system that allows such an abuse and cruelty. Even if you had known there was nothing we could do. Please, love."

Unwillingly and slowly Falcor half turned to him, releasing a quiet huff. "I have managed to find our contact. Justice seemed to receive the message this time. He said through the contact that he may be able to arrange us a passage through the sea, to Rivain. There's someone he trusts to help us. We have to find someone named Hinsi near South Reach post for further instructions."

Anders nodded at the short report Falcor gave him. He was talking again. It was a good sign. "Very well. We'll be on our way after both of us rested and the weather allows us to step out the door."

They had hard time trying to contact Justice after they were separated near Ferelden's south borders. Between trying to keep a low profile (which wasn't easy with their wanted posters all around) and trying to keep their sanity, suddenly they found themselves alone.

"Go to sleep. I promise I'll be here when you will wake up." Anders looked at his stubborn lover who refused to submit to sleep despite his exhaustion.

"I am fine. There is no need to fuss around me. I am not tired." The redhead glared at Anders, still scared to appear weak, a burden, even after years of acquaintance and companionship. Sometimes, although not as much as before, Falcor still acted as if he were a thing and not a person. Anders really wanted to beat the hell out of whomever programed him to act like his feelings and needs weren't important. Like a slave. Just the thought boiled the blood in his veins.

Gently lifting Falcor's face towards him, Anders sealed those dry lips with a tender kiss. His thumbs rubbed redhead's cheeks as the kiss lingered, neither of them willing to stop. "You do need the rest. Stop being so stubborn, will you?"

Falcor made a half irritated sound in the back of his throat but leaned closer. A second kiss soon came, and then another and another.

The tender caresses gradually turned into heated clash of teeth and tongues, both of them fighting for dominance in their desperate urge to find a temporary comfort. A distraction they needed from the rawness of death and stress that followed them every step of their lives recently.

Anders's nimble hands unzipped the other's pants, pushing the thick material down enough to free an already interested cock.

Falcor hissed quietly. He arched, pressing further into the familiar touch. Pleased with his lover's reaction Anders wrapped hand around the hardening cock and began to move it up and down.

He enjoyed hearing Falcor's gasps and moans, nibbling on the slender throat, gently at first but ending leaving marks all over it. To know that he was able to turn this tough man, this fiery fighter into a sweet pile of flesh, flushed and begging for more, did things to him. He couldn't deny it.

Falcor didn't complain, he liked when Anders went passionate, marking him as his. There was nothing wrong with a little rough sex.

Increasing the rhythm of his movements Anders just grinned when he felt shaking hands struggling with his own pants. He helped Falcor to open the tricky button, moaning in turn when his actions were mirrored by a warm hand of his lover.

In no time they were consumed in their lovemaking, drinking each other's groans of pleasure and rocking together.

Falcor came first; a faint long moan accompanied his seed spilling on Anders's hand and their clothes. Anders followed him, aroused by those sweet sounds his lover was making. Sometimes he thought he could come only from hearing Falcor.

They lay on the dusty heap of wheat sacks for a while, panting and too exhausted to move. Eventually their loud breathing calmed down. Anders was the first to shift, squinting at his red haired mate, whose head was on his chest, snoring lightly already. Gingerly he moved away, replacing his chest with a pillow made of his backpack. Falcor's nose twitched but he didn't wake up, curling further into a protective ball around the backpack, calmed by Anders's scent it carried.

Anders used the remains of the melted snow to clean himself and the still sleeping redhead before rearranging Falcor's pants. The red haired mutant didn't stir during the process; he was beyond exhaustion.

Anders took his coat off and covered Falcor's sleeping form. Usually they divided the night shifts in two, each getting a half night to watch while the other rested. But tonight, Anders decided to allow his lover the rest he needed so much.

It'd be a long night of watching.

Anders and Falcor in moment of intimacy. Thank you tarisha!

post/83997876634/falcor-and-anders-one-of-those-hot-moments-i


	5. Chapter 5

Free Marches ,Starkhaven, Wintermarch 2012

After three hours of interrogation the seeker left Vael's villa, many new notes in neat handwriting hidden in his case and a smile, half intrigued and half satisfied, decorating his face as his driver began to drive to one of the Starkhaven's hotels.

In the privacy of his car, nobody saw his own image faltering for a moment, revealing an under layer of sharp grey eyes and grey hair.

Marcus Downing opened the case again, passing once more through the gathered information. He busied himself with studying the files again, stopping at the one-eyed mutant's photo and lingering on it. Thumb slowly passing all over it, the edges of his thumbnail scratching the paper, light enough not to leave marks.

Soon.

An hour later the car stopped near a small hotel named "Andraste's Grace". It was a small, old fashioned place at the edge of the city. From what Marcus had found out Seeker Reeley quite liked this place, and usually stayed there when he visited the city.

For Marcus it was no different than any other dusty hotel. Nothing fancy.

He was greeted by a young pretty clerk and given a key to his room. Marcus hesitated for a moment and then asked for the dinner to be brought into his room around seven pm. He had reached his limit of wanting to socialize for today.

Marcus tiredly rubbed his eyes once he was in the room and placed the thick glasses on the table along with the case. He took off his coat and threw it on the bed. Then he sat near the table. Despite his fatigue, his restless mind was already planning his next possible steps. Not noticing, slowly, his head dropped onto his arms and he dozed off.

Sometime later Marcus opened his eyes, yawning and stiff. He gave the room a bleary look. It was already dark. Standing up he turned to the mini bar, wishing for a glass of whiskey, when he suddenly felt another presence in the room.

Fear washed through his body. Marcus jumped up. He put on Reeley's face automatically. It was safer than to meet the intruder as Marcus Downing.

With one hand he grabbed for Reeley's glasses, while the other was already pointing his gun at the intruder.

"Lower your weapon." The figure removed itself from the shadows. It was Magneto. Marcus tensed even more. Was he discovered already? But how?! He had been very careful, accurate in everything he did. After a short inner debate, he lowered his weapon. To go against one of the strongest mutants in the world was suicide. There was no way for him to come out of it alive. And Magneto could already kill him if he wanted to.

Then why was he here, endangering himself enough to come to Starkhaven? Its Templar population had increased dramatically over the last sixth months.

"Arthur. Good to see you." Magneto said, walking closer and looking at the other. Marcus slowly placed his weapon on the table, looking at the older man expectantly. He wasn't sure what to say. The realization that Magneto and Reeley were on familiar terms overwhelmed him a bit. How many secrets did you have, Arthur Reeley, you old fox?

Now Marcus was sorry for killing the Seeker so fast. He should have interrogated him more. If he'd only had the time to do so.

He nodded at the other and sat. "I have to admit that was unexpected. You must be really crazy or desperate to come here, alone," he said dryly, trying to keep both his voice and movements neutral. He could only hope that he was playing by the rules.

"Maybe, maybe, who knows?" the older man chuckled and sat across the table, putting his wrinkled hands on it. "Are you still angry at me? I am sorry for last time…" Marcus kept his silence, only frowning deeper.

"I need your help, my friend." Magneto went straight to business. "I need you to organize a ticket for two men. A safe passage to Rivain."

Marcus froze, stopping his breath. "Do you mean?…" No, could it be? Did Magneto really mean who he thought he meant?

"Yes, I need you to get them out of this hell. Favor for a favor, Arthur Reeley. Do it and all your debts will be forgotten."

Marcus chewed on his bottom lip. It was a situation he couldn't predict and a smallest wrong step would expose him. No way would he fuck up such a perfect chance. "I will do whatever I can. You do understand what it may cost me, don't you? "

Magento nodded silently, his jaw tightening even more. Marcus could tell, by the mutant's face, that he was surprised by the quick agreement, but said nothing. Marcus continued, glad he was on the right track. "I will need any information about their route, contacts. Anything that may help me to reach them. Now, do you want some whiskey, my friend?"

Free Marches ,Starkhaven, Vael's villa, Wintermarch 2012

After the seeker finally left, Sebastian and Marian had a nice dinner together, something small and homelike they had enjoyed preparing together. Both of them felt exhausted by the intense questioning that had brought back many memories of pain and loss, so they had decided to do something to lighten the mood. To her embarrassment, Sebastian's culinary skills still surpassed hers. She promised herself to improve, wishing to spoil her future husband with tasty home-made meals. She wanted to do so many things for him, just to see him happy.

After the dinner Sebastian remained to wash the dishes and she went out to take her mabari, Grimm, for a walk. Sebastian kissed her cheek before she left, saying he would be at his office till late to finish some important letters.

Returning, Marian found her fiancé still hunched over his laptop, scribbling something in one of the many papers that surrounded him and looking really busy. She decided to go to sleep early. Marian bade him good night and went to the bed. Hours later she felt him sliding into the bed and happily shifted closer to his warm form.

When she woke up in the morning, he had already left. Marian looked at her watch and jumped out of bed. It was 10am, she had overslept. Sebastian had left her a short note to say that he had an important business meeting. Deciding she needed a relaxing bath she left the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Before going to the bathroom, Marian grabbed her bag and pulled a small bluish box out of it. She took it with her and placed it on the dark wood cabinet before Marian undressed and opened the hot water faucet to fill the bath.

When she was done she wrapped a large towel around her body. Hand closing over the bluish box, Marian opened it, studying the content of the home pregnancy test. She read the instructions and followed them dutifully. She impatiently waited two minutes, then took a deep breath and checked the results. Her jaw hanging slack, she rechecked it twice before breaking into happy laughter.

She was pregnant. She was expecting Sebastian's child. The knowledge filled her heart with something light and warm. Marian Hawke was a tough woman, an ex-gang fighter, a leader. But none of the above made her less a woman. She had her soft, feminine sides too. To say that had she always wanted kids, family would be a lie. For most of her life, she'd been unable to deal with babies and washing dishes, but her life with Sebastian had softened the edges. She wanted to create a family with this man, didn't see the responsibility of being a mother as something negative anymore.

She couldn't wait to deliver the news to her fiancé.

The smiling woman headed back to the bedroom, almost dancing the entire way. Her phone started playing "Mambo Number Five". Still smiling to herself, Marian took the ringing mobile almost immediately. That was Varric's ringtone. She put him on speaker.

"Varric! It's only 11am, what you are doing up in such an early hour? I thought Bianca was doing a fine job tiring you half to death every night." She teased him lovingly; her voice was warm to hear him calling.

"Oh, you are underestimating me, Hawke! Even my dear wife can't surpass my mojo, although I have to admit that she gets pretty close sometimes. Since she decided to try that new vibrator Bella gave us…"

"That's too many details for poor old me, especially if Isabela is involved." Hawke rushed to stop him. Varric joined her a moment later, his deep chuckle vibrating through the room.

"I don't suppose I could tempt you and Choir Boy around for dinner some time? Bianca's promised to stay out of the kitchen, so you don't have to worry about another bout of food poisoning." His tone was light but Hawke could tell he missed her. She missed him too, her trusty old friend. Varric was one of the few people that she could trust, who she could be herself around. There were a few others whom she had trusted, only to be betrayed by. Like Anders. "I would love to, but Sebastian is so busy lately. Maybe I'll jump to visit next weekend. " Varric hummed in agreement.

"We had a Seeker visiting us yesterday. A somewhat scary type, I must admit. He asked a lot of questions about Anders, Falcor and Beth. "Marian took a pause before continuing. "Sometimes I just wonder if I made the right choice back then. Maybe I had to look out for him. To check on him more frequently…Perhaps then I could have saved Anders from going mad, from Justice. I could have saved Beth." She bit her lip not to sob.

"Hawke," Varric said, his voice very gentle "It's done. Both Sunshine and Blondie made their own choices, and neither of them would thank you for beating yourself up over it. And Claws…well he always did follow Blondie like a red shadow."

Hawke sighed heavily and wiped her eyes, glad no one was there to see her crying. "Let's move to a happier topic. I know I should tell Sebastian first but…I can't hold it in. I'm pregnant! I'm going to be a mother, Varric!"

There was silence for a moment, but when Varric responded Hawke could tell he was grinning. "That's the best news I've heard in months. So, Hawke has an egg in the nest? You're going to name the baby after me, right? Haven't I earned the right to have your firstborn named after me? You know, for suffering you for all those years?"

Hawke snorted in amusement. " Stop whining. I think I will name her Bethany. I mean, it could be a boy. I would name him Carver then. I just have a feeling it'll be a girl. But you'll be a great godfather. On the condition you promise not to tell her the embarrassing stories."

"I would never miss that, not for all the gold in the world." Varric sounded delighted.


	6. Chapter 6

Free Marches, a small city near South Reach Post, Guardian 2012

Anders frowned at the broken mirror as he studied himself in the dim light of the filthy bathroom. His hair, newly dyed to russet, combined with the small beard he grew, made a new man of him. It made him look older, hiding the sharp angles of his gaunt cheeks. The beard itched but he preferred to suffer the uncomfortable facial hair than to be caught by templars.

"You look like an old guy." Falcor chuckled. His hands ghosted over his own cut-short, curly hair. "Don't look at me like this. You are older than me."

"An old guy who suffers you every day. I should have a medal for that alone." Anders faked a pout. "And that old guy fucks you, the best lay of your life. Don't forget that fact, my dear boy," he added slyly.

Falcor snorted in amusement and pinched Anders' ass when he passed near him.

"…Are we sticking to the plan?"

Anders nodded, turning to his lover.

Falcor's shoulders drooped and he tagged at his hair, now too short, nervously. "I still think it's a bad idea. We could just run away - to the Anderfels, for example. We can build a small house somewhere in the wilderness. Just you and me. We can start anew. They won't find us there." His voice was small, almost pleading. He was tensed, teeth worrying his lower lip and squinting at his lover.

The blonde mutant sighed. "We have talked about this already. At least five times. I can't hide. I won't. Falcor, sooner or later they will find us."

Falcor glared at him. "I am not stupid. But I really don't understand why you had to jump in the middle. Justice was on it already. He's the one that wants to fight against the entire world. Do you? Do you really want it? I just don't get it. You are so...so..." He stumbled on the words.

"So-what?" Anders crossed arms on his chest and scowled at his lover.

"Obstinate!" Falcor cried out. "We don't need it. Please, we can just find a safe place. We have each other. Isn't it enough?"

Anders glared at him. He could taste the tension building in the air. Frustration and anger were mixing into a quiet snarl. "I did what had to be done. We have talked about it already, several times. Things weren't improving and you know it."

Anders was a doctor for many years and he knew how to diagnose an illness. He could see when someone was ill, a festering wound affecting its functioning and the effectiveness of its actions. And as a good doctor he knew the wound needed to be reopened, cleansed and treated to stop further infection.

He could use it as an allegory for the situation between humans and mutants. It just got worse and worse. Even as an idealist, Anders understood change was needed, something to shake their apathetic society. Supported by Justice and his fellow rebels, he felt empowered enough to operate.

Sadly, his views on the subject weren't shared by other people, including his lover. It was a constant theme of arguments between them.

"How can you say that? I am acting for all of us. For you too, Falcor! You have no idea how it is to be taught every day of your life that you are a monster, a mistake of nature. How it is to cower, to be punished for every small thing… To be a prisoner…A FUCKING SLAVE!" Anders finally lost his patience.

"How dare you say that?! I do not know how it to be a…I DO NOT?!" Falcor screamed back. His eye was narrowed and he was breathing heavily now, trying to hold himself back from a further outburst and failing.

"You are a fucking selfish son of a bitch." Falcor grabbed a nearby chair and threw it against the nearest wall with such force that it broke into several pieces. The unsteady table was next. Anders winced. To see Falcor looking at him with such disdain, almost hate in his gaze, he didn't want that. And he definitely didn't expect another episode, it hadn't happened in the last year and now he'd caused it.

He hoped all the tumult they made wouldn't bring unwanted attention to them. Luckily screams, fighting and vomiting were quite common in that slowly dying colony of refugees.

"Falcor," he started but the redhead just growled like an angry beast. Anders stared helplessly, trying desperately to say something to calm his lover. But the words escaped him. "Shut up. Fucking freedom fighter..." Falcor hissed, grabbing his coat and escaping the room.

He loved Anders more than anything but sometimes he just felt like wrapping his fingers around the blond's throat and pressing. He'd hurt his lover a few times and was terrified by it so when the anger threatened to take over, he'd learned to run away. Anders knew by now not to stop him. Falcor always returned in the end.

"Damn, love, I am so sorry. I just…it's the right way...Why can't you see that?" Anders whispered to the slammed door, sitting on the dirty floor and winding his fingers into his messy hair.

Falcor wandered around for an hour, until he was able to stop. It took him that long to slow down his insanely fast heartbeat and to stop thinking of tearing something apart. Back then, when he was Downing's toy, he was given freedom to release his aggression from time to time. Marcus was smart enough to see the signs and just left him in one room with someone he wanted to get rid of. Later Falcor would walk out of the room, much more relaxed, and whatever left of the unfortunate victim would need to be scrubbed from the walls.

Now he had no such way to calm down through violence. Nor did he want to. Falcor was working on the meditation techniques that Anders and that little, babbly mutant, Merrill had taught him. He was improving, slowly but surely.

Most of the day he spent hiding; trying to meditate. He needed some time away from Anders, to relax and to think. Packed together with many other refuges in a darkish wagon, on the road to South Reach for almost a week… it was too much for him. Both he and Anders were claustrophobic and Falcor's patience was rather short.

When Falcor came back to himself, it was already midnight. He looked around through the broken windows, staring at the bright quarter-moon. The realization that his lover was probably searching all over the camp came to him a bit later and brought some guilt with it.

Walking through the greasy streets, full of rust and ruins, he pondered what to do next. Of course Anders wouldn't change, that persistent dumbass. Now he felt sorry for his hysteria. It wasn't Anders's fault. After all, Falcor had fallen in love with the man, for good and for bad.

He ignored the other refugees at the sides of the streets as he walked back. A lone man usually would be an easy target but something about him kept away even the most desperate criminals.

A small fire to his left caught his attention. More accurately, the pile of burning books that a few refugees were using to keep themselves warm.

Falcor stopped. He felt sorrow for wasting books like that. Only a few years ago he'd realized the importance those fragile pages held. The toy he had been had no need for reading properly, for gathering knowledge. He barely could read or write his own name. If not for Bethany Hawke, Varric and Anders, he would never have found out the magic of reading. Since then his reading skills had improved greatly.

A bitter smirk twisted his mouth. Falcor approached the little fire and leaned over, reading the titles in the dull light. He had no idea why he did so. Perhaps the nostalgia for better days caused him to linger. When he saw a particular book he stopped.

The men tried to protest, scared the stranger would steal their fuel source. But Falcor gave a warning growl and they retreated.

'Fairy Tales Told for Children' by Hans Christian Andersen. Falcor's breath hitched and his hands began to tremble. He denied the moisture at the corners of his eye. This version was a pale copy of the golden-threaded book with colorful pictures Varric and Anders had bought him for his birthday. Technically it hadn't been his birthday; Falcor had forgotten when that was long ago. So they chose a date for him and held a small party. He remembered crying then and hiding his embarrassment into Anders's warm chest. He remembered, too, the following nights when they snuggled in their narrow bed and Anders read to him and cherished every of those precious memories.

Standing above the books' pile for long minutes, Falcor forced himself to snap out of the trance. He grabbed the book, hiding it inside his heavy fur coat and rushed home.

Anders didn't move when the door of the room screeched its objection to being opened. He didn't react when Falcor sneaked in, just keep sitting on the bed, brows furrowed and body stiff.

Crap, Anders was angry at him.

Squinting at the unmoving figure of his angry lover, Falcor swallowed. He carefully circled the bed, sat down and opened the book at a random page.

The steadfast tin soldier.

Alright, then. He loved this one.

"There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers. They were all brothers, born of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight ahead of them, splendid in their uniforms…"

He kept reading slowly, stumbling over hard words till the stiffness left Anders's limbs and the taller man shifted closer, softly correcting the grammar mistakes and pronouncing words for his lover.

_Forgiven_.

Falcor held in a sigh of relief and kept reading, his own voice filling with lightness as they pressed against each other.


	7. Chapter 7

Free Marches, Tiurg (a small city between Starkhaven and Ansburg)

Wintermarch 2012, (2 days after the events of the fifth chapter)

* * *

Zaties loved his family. Having a sickly wife and four small mouths to feed caused him to take almost any possible job, no matter how risky it was, even if it meant leaving the somewhat protective walls of Tiurg.

The treasure searching mostly was tiring and ungrateful business. He wasn't the only one who sneaked into the debris of discarded waste, digging around in a search for anything that could be sold for a few silvers; the competition was high. The area was unprotected, visited only by enormous trucks that departed quickly after their load was carelessly dumped.

Adjusting the muzzle of his breathing mask which blocked most of the stench and the toxic gases, Zaties slowly examined the garbage-mountains, his experienced gaze filtering whatever looked valuable in between the colorful masses. Too busy with trying to find another 'treasure' he even didn't notice how far away he went, further from the city than he ever had been before.

Carefully walking on the iced, slippery ground he stopped from time to time, sometimes slipping something into the bag he brought with him and sometimes straightening with a disappointed sigh. 'Till now he had not found much, to his dismay.

A faint blue shimmer caught his eyes and the man rushed to the stinky mass of half frozen garbage and many things he couldn't identify. He pushed his hand almost to the elbow in the crack between a smashed plasma TV and half mattress stained with something yellow and dark (better not to think about it). His fingers felt the object, something thin and fragile and he pulled at it as gently but firmly as it was possible. It didn't come out easily; he had to try a few times until whatever was holding it broke with a dry sound and finally Zaties was able to see his find.

He smiled to himself but the smile was gone when he saw what he was holding. It was a weirdly shaped chip, thin and dirty with a….piece of bone attached to it. Wherever it was a human bone or not, Zaties couldn't guess. Well, he really hoped it wasn't.

He paled, studying his discovery. His first instinct was to throw it away in disgust. But then, the chip was rather large and if cleaned could be sold for a nice price. From what he could tell, it was dapped with lyrium, its bluish shade unmistakable even under all the filth. Whatever it was, trivial it wasn't. Zaties leaned closer, trying to see the shape engraved on it.

Was it an engraved eye?

He looked at the flake before shoving it into his bag and standing up, and wondered if he could sell it for ten silvers.

* * *

Free Marches, Starkhaven, Guardian 2012, the present day

Marian had made it a long way from a broken refugee to an (almost) princess of Starkhaven. Her path had been full of obstacles, unfriendly strangers and only a few allies. Climbing up with teeth and claws, Hawke used everything she had or could put her hands on to fulfill her plans. No wonder some quirks went too deep, habits which in time turned into an affectionate obsession.

Looting was one of them. The necessity of digging in garbage somehow, without her noticing the change, became a small adventure. Even after the success of their expedition, Marian still took time to collect any piece of junk she found interesting. Marian could be the archeologist, the detective, and the great discoverer of unspeakable treasures, all in one.

Of course most of the things she brought home were no more than simple rubbish and were quickly thrown away, but from time to time she found something unusual enough to keep as a trophy. The shelves dedicated to her 'treasures' became a large mirror-closet where each piece was polished and positioned in perfect order.

Her non-dangerous (mostly) obsession deeply annoyed her companions in Kirkwall. Varric often pondered what people would say about their Champion happily crawling on her stomach and collecting scraps.

With time, Hawke's new status and a few loud arguments with her fiancé tempered her passion, somewhat. Smart woman that she was, Marian found a way around.

The grand city market.

The market was a wide collection of stands and small shops, located between the broad alleys of eastern part of the city. Unlike many other countries, Starkhaven wasn't affected as deeply by the Blight and its economics didn't crash; only faltered. Due to that, most of the businesses were able to hold on.

The market itself was divided into two wings. The right side of it was of edible products. Here you could find rows of fruits and vegetables stalls, freshly baked breads, cheese and more. Also, it contained a large variety of animals and flowers.

The left wing held clothes, furniture, trinkets and random antiquities. Marian headed there, as usual. She loved to slowly explore the stalls, chatting with the already familiar shop owners as she checked upon the variety of their merchandise. Smiling as if she had won a fortune, Marian wandered between the stands, chatting with their owners (who already knew her) and occasionally lingering around this and that.

A half hour later, she was the happy owner of an ancient dwarven scales' chain (at least the clerk claimed so) and a dark green vintage elven lamp. She was getting hungry and just had a thought of visiting her favorite bakery at the other side of the market when she saw it.

It was a small, shimmering object; its shape was oval like with once smooth edges and a wide open eye engulfed in flames engraved over it. Any thoughts of food escaped her head. The small thing was bluish; Hawke was bemused to discover it had lyrium dots all over it. She examined it closer only to see some kind of embossed symbols on its backside.

She had seen this eye somewhere before, she was sure about it. Hawke had a good memory. For some reason it bothered her.

Wasn't it a very curious thing? If Marian couldn't stand something it was an unsolved enigma.

Curiosity flaring, she paid for it, had it wrapped, and rushed home.

Marian had a new toy to play with.

The first thing she did when she returned to the mansion was to run into her private laboratory. Marian could check for hours on the smallest piece of metal, running tests upon it, analyzing it, and researching the subject from every possible angle.

The flake was placed under a microscope and later scanned, put to chemical reaction tests. Simultaneously, she sent a picture of it into the internet search engines.

Sebastian came to check upon her eventually, but seeing her absorbed in her new research just shook his head and gave up. When Hawke was in that particular knowledge-thirsty mood, even an earthquake couldn't avert her attention.

The results of her investigation were rather shocking. The flake turned to be authentic, packed with enough lyrium to make an average mutant drool with happiness.

"Andraste's smoking panties! It's the Inquisitor's symbol. I wonder how it ended up in the market." Hawke raised an eyebrow, gaping. Now she was truly curious.

"How did you end up between washing machine parts, will you tell me, dearie?" Marian cooed over the obviously silent piece.

The next level of the process was to compare the oversized image of the pattern which now, when seen clearly looked like a cipher code. Here Hawke came to a dead end.

She spent more than two hours using all she knew about internet to find even the smallest clue as to the purpose of such a thing. It didn't seem like something that one would wear on his clothes or as jewelry. Perhaps it was a trinket, no more than a decorative meaningless object. The Chantry liked to remind people of itself and its glory. But it was too small to be noticed unless it was looked upon from a close range.

"No way I'm giving up now." Hawke declared with a grim determination hours later. So what if she'd have to hack the Chantry databases. She'd been there, done that before. Having Isabela and Varric as friends did teach one many usable skills and Hawke was always good with computers. She just needed the right direction. From there she could manage.

Cracking the system defenses was an annoying procedure, too slow for the suddenly impatient woman.

"Finally!" Marian smirked as the screen filled with the highly protected information. As she began to read her eyebrows climbed up further and further.

"What? Inquisitors have chips implanted into their bodies? What is this? A D rated science fiction movie? Maker's breath, what _is _that shit?!"

She kept reading, fascinated and horrified in the same time. It looked like the Chantry didn't trust even her most loyal pets and insisted putting into each of them a unique to that person chip that could be used as tracking device. To remove it from a person would be a complicated and probably very painful procedure.

Hawke whistled. She was glued to her main computer, fingers typing in an almost inhuman speed. Comparing the cipher code on the purchased chip to the database gave her the most surprising results.

The flake's data belonged to a familiar name.

**Arthur Reeley.**

Sebastian was sipping a cup of his favorite tea as he was reading a newspaper when Marian rushed in, face pale and confused. "Love…I have something I want to show you."


	8. Chapter 8

Free Marches, Starkhaven, Guardian 2012, the present day

Sebastian was slightly confused and a bit irritated to be distracted from the documents he was reading. It wasn't a common behavior for Hawke to rush from the depths of her dearest lab and to drag him in with an almost manic gleam in her eyes. Allowing himself to be pulled in patiently he wondered what kind of trouble she stepped in this time.

Not like it was the first time.

Yet, this time it was something bigger, darker. Sebastian even didn't realize how severe it was in the beginning.

His guts twisted uncomfortably as he stared into the computer screen, processing the information. He was puzzled and terrified by his fiancé's actions at once. "What is it Marian? Is that…Dear Maker, what have you done?!" He has exclaimed in shock. How could she break into Chantry's databases? How could she do it, making him her unwilling crime partner?!

"Seb, baby, I know I should have not…I guess, but please read the files! Yes, that paragraph. Check here and there too. It's insane. And something is terrible off if you connect the facts together." Marian nervously fidgeted around.

Sebastian could admit he wished he was able to delete the creepy information from his mind. He really wanted to unsee those clinical pictures and cold terms of what they were doing to people, their most trusted followers, no less. To have a piece of a concentrated lyrium inside of a human body was a slow poisoning, a painful drug addiction. What for?

No, the Chantry had to have a good reason for that. A reason, he, a simple believer failed to see. He couldn't doubt his belief. The Chantry was their mother and father and led them wisely through their life path. He can't doubt them so easily.

Right?

He tried to focus at Reeley's case before him. His first thought was to inform the Chantry about it and to allow them to deal with whatever happened there. But immediately he realized it was not an option. Despite of the revelation none will look kindly at Hawke for hacking Chantry's secrets. Marian will be arrested, high status or not, and probably he will meet the same fate sooner or later. Not only he didn't want her to get in trouble there was a question of their reputation as well. Just to imagine the royal family arrested and put under trial, what will it do to his people? They will turn their backs to him and his good name will never be clean again. He will be not able to excuse them out of this. Even not with all of his connections. Sebastian didn't wish for such a future.

Not to mention her pregnancy.

They looked each at the other in uncomfortable silence; Sebastian is still freaked out and Marian still nervous, biting at her fingernails.

"So, what will we do now? We can't leave it like this. You know that, there is something very wrong, I can feel it. Don't you?" She blurted, giving him a miserable gaze from her place before the computers. She pressed a few buttons to leave the hacked site, deleting any trace of her all over it on her virtual way out.

"Marian, do you realize what have you done?... If you only could keep your hands to yourself, your inability to stop leads to troubles every time at new! Why do you have to run head first into every hole you can see?" Sebastian hissed angrily. Marian flinched, looking mildly guilty.

"Seb, you are over reacting. I am a pro. Stop making such a deal out of it."

"Overreacting? Are you aware of what you are saying? Marian… You are not an adventurous mercenary anymore. Wake up! You are not in Kirkwall anymore. You are an almost a princess now. And you are carrying our child. A CHILD! Do you understand what does it means? Do you?!" He was close to screaming in the end.

Marian raised terrified eyes on him. She didn't consider the child that now was in the picture. A thought that her actions may fire back at her child or her new bright future somehow escaped her mind. She averted her gaze and returned to nibble on her abused nails again.

"You are angry. I get it babe, I have screwed up. Do you want me to delete all the information I have saved? Yet, are we really allowing this…'Reeley' to freely wander around?" She protested wearily.

Sebastian glared at her. He considered it before answering. "I don't know. Let me think about it. Where from did you get the chip?"

Hawke said "Oh, I got it from Gustavo, an old elf. He owns the "Small Treasury". It's on the left side of the market, between the new furniture place and that brand children fashion shop."

The Starkhaven prince took out his mobile and called his secretary with a defeated sigh. "Good evening, Addira. Yes, everything is alright, I just have a few changes for tomorrow's schedule. Please tell Lukas I want to see him tomorrow in the morning. Cancel whatever meetings were scheduled till noon." He waited for her to check with the man. "Eight and half o'clock? Yes, sure, that will be good. No, I need nothing else, thank you. Good night to you too."

Despite of Marian's hot objections he forbade her to continue her investigation, taking the unpleasant duty on himself. He didn't want her involved more than she was, wishing to keep her and the baby she carried safe.

Needless to say there wasn't any cuddling this night when they went to bed. After another, this time shorter argument followed by screaming and doors banging Sebastian ended sleeping on the cough in the quest room.

Three days later, the head of Starkhaven Royal security, Lukas Shainn, placed a very detailed report on his table. Lukas served him for years, sufficient and quiet, a man he could trust. He was one the best, keeping things strictly discreet, true professional.

The report contained Zaties's testimony (the poor lad met an 'accidental' end soon after, same as the antiquity shop owner), photos and analyses of a found under piles of garbage dried remains that were identified as Arthur Reeley by comparing the DNA samples they have managed to obtain. The reason of Reeley's death was clear; his head was broken by something heavy from behind. The body was dead about a month ago and of course it didn't possess any lyrium chip inside.

He went cold; realizing that whoever was in their house weeks ago wasn't the real Reeley. Still he did look like the real thing which was creepy. What was it? A fantastically successful make up? A plastic surgery? Or maybe a shape-shifting mutation?

The last thought left him with sweat rolling down his temple. A shape shifting mutant, running free and pretending to be a powerful figure in Chantry hierarchy? That couldn't be good, Marian was right. Sebastian was tempted to contact the Chantry at this point again but knew it will be unwise of him. He'll have to capture the imposter himself.

Closing the report he stared at it for a while. Then he pressed the phone line button and asked his secretary to get him Lucas. They'll need a plan.


End file.
